and accomplished family—my family,
to be precise.”
At this, the Chums went crazy.
Tabby Cat leapt up from her seat.
“Careful—the baby!” Rita warned.
“I need to know how Clarissa is related to Grace,”
said Tabby Cat urgently.
“Grace Horton was my ex-husband’s mother, my
daughter Nancy’s grandmother.”
I looked over at Nancy, whose head was buried in a
book.
A dark-haired woman wearing glasses raised her
hand.
“Yes?”
“Who chose Grace as the cover model? Was it Ed-
ward Stratemeyer or the illustrator, Russell Tandy?”
Before Clarissa could answer, another woman
shouted out, “What was she really like? Was Grace anything like Nancy Drew?”
Then another: “Did your ex-mother-in-law get to
keep any original cover art, anything like that?”
“Ladies, ladies. These are all fine questions. Indeed, on the subject of Grace’s relationship with Russell
Tandy and her impact on the creation of Nancy Drew, I have much to say. But you will have to be patient.”
They didn’t much like that idea.
“Now, now.” She smiled. “What I mean to say is, I
will be addressing all of these questions in my forthcoming book.”
The Chums were beside themselves yet again. What
forthcoming book?
“It will be chock-full of surprises, I promise you that.
N O T
A
G I R L
D E T E C T I V E
95
All sorts of secrets will be revealed.” She smiled again, showing all of her thirty-two teeth.
Lael sounded like she was choking. She was a good
friend.
“And now, Chums, we will adjourn for lunch. When
we return, Allie Nemeroff from Shreveport, Louisiana, will give her talk, ‘Boullion with a Speck of Nutmeg: Savories in Nancy Drew.’ Finally,” she said, looking
right at me, “something we can all enjoy!”
In the world of boxing, they call that a technical
knockout.
10
Edgar Edwards’s pool turned out to be an excellent
place to recuperate. The water was a crystalline blue, the temperature a balmy eighty. The three of us floated along on rafts we’d bought on sale at Target, soaking up the healing rays of the sun. All negative thoughts were banished. They were like the tiny leaves floating on the surface of the water. If you didn’t get rid of them,
they’d eventually clog your filter.
So Lael and Bridget had lost three hundred dollars at video poker. They had their health, didn’t they? Bridget had a boyfriend who adored her. Lael had amazing
children. As for me, well, I could hardly complain. I let my hand dangle in the water and tried to feel content-ment wash over me. It took a minute. I had a happy
daughter. Wonderful friends. My book was almost fin-
ished. I was done with Clarissa’s games. Her bad attitude was not my problem. Her daughter was not my
problem. Her quote-unquote book was not my prob-
lem. My romance with Gambino, however—that was
definitely my problem. I’d derailed it, and only I could N O T
A
G I R L
D E T E C T I V E
97
set it right. I pulled my hand out of the water and shook the droplets off.
“You woke me up,” Lael said groggily.
“Go back to sleep,” I whispered.
I grabbed my cell phone from the raft’s cup holder and punched in his number. He’d be back from Buffalo by
now. And if I knew him at all he would’ve gone straight from the airport to his office in the Hollywood Division.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Gambino.”
“Hi. It’s me.”
I thought I could hear him smiling. He’d be rumpled.
The blue eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses would
be red. He couldn’t sleep on planes. And he’d be on his fourth cup of coffee by now, heavy on the cream and
sugar.
“I missed you.”
“Me, too,” I answered.
Lael was wide awake now. She and Bridget drifted
over, so they could hear our conversation better. “I want to hear all about your trip, but first I have something I need to tell you.” My stomach was doing flip-flops. “It can’t wait.”
Lael squealed. Bridget reached over to clutch her
hand
to be precise.”
At this, the Chums went crazy.
Tabby Cat leapt up from her seat.
“Careful—the baby!” Rita warned.
“I need to know how Clarissa is related to Grace,”
said Tabby Cat urgently.
“Grace Horton was my ex-husband’s mother, my
daughter Nancy’s grandmother.”
I looked over at Nancy, whose head was buried in a
book.
A dark-haired woman wearing glasses raised her
hand.
“Yes?”
“Who chose Grace as the cover model? Was it Ed-
ward Stratemeyer or the illustrator, Russell Tandy?”
Before Clarissa could answer, another woman
shouted out, “What was she really like? Was Grace anything like Nancy Drew?”
Then another: “Did your ex-mother-in-law get to
keep any original cover art, anything like that?”
“Ladies, ladies. These are all fine questions. Indeed, on the subject of Grace’s relationship with Russell
Tandy and her impact on the creation of Nancy Drew, I have much to say. But you will have to be patient.”
They didn’t much like that idea.
“Now, now.” She smiled. “What I mean to say is, I
will be addressing all of these questions in my forthcoming book.”
The Chums were beside themselves yet again. What
forthcoming book?
“It will be chock-full of surprises, I promise you that.
N O T
A
G I R L
D E T E C T I V E
95
All sorts of secrets will be revealed.” She smiled again, showing all of her thirty-two teeth.
Lael sounded like she was choking. She was a good
friend.
“And now, Chums, we will adjourn for lunch. When
we return, Allie Nemeroff from Shreveport, Louisiana, will give her talk, ‘Boullion with a Speck of Nutmeg: Savories in Nancy Drew.’ Finally,” she said, looking
right at me, “something we can all enjoy!”
In the world of boxing, they call that a technical
knockout.
10
Edgar Edwards’s pool turned out to be an excellent
place to recuperate. The water was a crystalline blue, the temperature a balmy eighty. The three of us floated along on rafts we’d bought on sale at Target, soaking up the healing rays of the sun. All negative thoughts were banished. They were like the tiny leaves floating on the surface of the water. If you didn’t get rid of them,
they’d eventually clog your filter.
So Lael and Bridget had lost three hundred dollars at video poker. They had their health, didn’t they? Bridget had a boyfriend who adored her. Lael had amazing
children. As for me, well, I could hardly complain. I let my hand dangle in the water and tried to feel content-ment wash over me. It took a minute. I had a happy
daughter. Wonderful friends. My book was almost fin-
ished. I was done with Clarissa’s games. Her bad attitude was not my problem. Her daughter was not my
problem. Her quote-unquote book was not my prob-
lem. My romance with Gambino, however—that was
definitely my problem. I’d derailed it, and only I could N O T
A
G I R L
D E T E C T I V E
97
set it right. I pulled my hand out of the water and shook the droplets off.
“You woke me up,” Lael said groggily.
“Go back to sleep,” I whispered.
I grabbed my cell phone from the raft’s cup holder and punched in his number. He’d be back from Buffalo by
now. And if I knew him at all he would’ve gone straight from the airport to his office in the Hollywood Division.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Gambino.”
“Hi. It’s me.”
I thought I could hear him smiling. He’d be rumpled.
The blue eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses would
be red. He couldn’t sleep on planes. And he’d be on his fourth cup of coffee by now, heavy on the cream and
sugar.
“I missed you.”
“Me, too,” I answered.
Lael was wide awake now. She and Bridget drifted
over, so they could hear our conversation better. “I want to hear all about your trip, but first I have something I need to tell you.” My stomach was doing flip-flops. “It can’t wait.”
Lael squealed. Bridget reached over to clutch her
hand
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